


so hot you're hurting my feelings

by girlsonthetv



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, First gay experience, Non-Explicit Sex, One Night Stands, The Goddess Tower, The Golden Deer's Plea, in the middle of a war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsonthetv/pseuds/girlsonthetv
Summary: On the night of the ball, Ingrid goes up to the Goddess Tower for some fresh air, where she has a chance encounter. Five years later, their destinies intersect yet again at Derdriu.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	so hot you're hurting my feelings

It had been a long time since Ingrid had been to a ball. Faerghus was not the kind of country where its nobility threw balls on a whim or out of boredom - the only one she could remember was the ball for Prince Dimitri’s most recent birthday, and between the Kingdom’s political unrest and general lack of funds, that one had been nothing to write home about. No expense had been spared for this year’s ball at Garreg Mach, despite - or perhaps because of - the myriad troubles that had plagued the school. There was a slightly manic quality to the festivities, at least to Ingrid, that unsettled her. 

There was also the matter of the boy whose family her father had most recently floated the idea of her marrying into to deal with. He kept attempting to corner her and talk about his father’s - very large and very impressive - lance regiment. “Talk” here meaning that he would drone on and on and on as she nodded at appropriate intervals and looked suitably impressed. When she saw him walking over to her for the nth time that evening - did he have no other friends? - she informed no one in particular that she was going to get some fresh air, and stepped out.

Stepping outside is like a bubble of noise and people and rich smells popping, leaving Ingrid taking deep breaths of clean mountain air. The endless chatter is still there, an ever-present current, but now Ingrid can at least hear herself think. She sighs deeply and begins to walk, letting her feet take her wherever they will. Anywhere that wasn’t that ballroom, which was simultaneously enormous and as small and constricting as a birdcage. 

Nothing calmed her like going for a ride on her pegasus, and for a moment she considered it - but she was hardly dressed for it, and Catria was likely fast asleep, and the idea was discarded almost as soon as it took shape. The Goddess Tower’s spire loomed in her vision, impossible to miss, and she began to head towards it, hoping that going to the top would have a similar calming effect to flying. 

As she ascended the stairs and the buildings of Garreg Mach began to grow smaller and more toy-like, the events of the evening began to bother her less and less. Who cared if the boy was already convinced he was going to marry her, even though neither of them had finished school yet? Who cared if her dress was old and its cut outdated? It was comfortable, and the sage green fabric made her feel like a wood nymph as it swished around her ankles. 

She reached the top and tipped her head back, breathing in the cool air. The wind had always been her friend, as a child of pegasus knights brought up in snowy mountain peaks. The top of the Goddess Tower felt like coming home, in a strange way. 

“What are you doing?” 

Ingrid gasped and instinctively fell into a stance, though she had no weapon to hold. Hilda giggled with a sound like champagne bubbling in the glass, and Ingrid relaxed to see a classmate and not an assailant. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“It’s alright. I was just… feeling the breeze, though that sounds silly.” Ingrid leaned against the railing and sighed. Suddenly this entire jaunt felt stupid and childish with Hilda here to witness it. 

“No, it’s not silly. It’s hot in that ballroom.” Hilda tugs at the low collar of her own dress, a confection of rich pink silk on the cutting-edge of fashion that makes Ingrid feel even more drab by comparison. “Where’s your fiance?” 

Embarrassment pulses in Ingrid’s chest, turns her face and neck red. She didn’t realize everyone already knew about it, but it made sense. Why wouldn’t a boy brag to his friends about his pretty prize? “Still in the ballroom. Why?” 

Hilda shrugged, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil she had caused in Ingrid with three little words. “I thought you guys would have come up here to make a vow at the top of the Goddess Tower. Have you heard the legend?” 

Recognition flickered dimly in the back of Ingrid’s mind, something about boys and girls. “Jog my memory, would you?” 

“If an unmarried boy and a girl come up to the top of the Goddess Tower on the night of the ball, the goddess will grant them divine protection, and that vow will come true! Or so it’s said.” Hilda declared, eyes shining with the fervor of a believer. “A couple guys asked me if I wanted to. I thought you’d get some guys asking, too, since you’re so pretty and all.” 

Ingrid blushed even deeper, if that was possible, jealousy and giddiness tangling together in her guts. Of course Hilda would get boys asking to make a vow with her, she who led every boy at school around on a leash of fluttering eyelashes, she who had won the genetic lottery with curves in all the right places and hair the color of new roses; yet this unreal girl thought Ingrid was pretty. 

“I - I - no, no one asked me to come up here and make a vow with him.” Ingrid said, forging on past the compliment Hilda had tossed out like it was nothing. “What happened to all the boys who asked you?” 

Hilda flicked her hair out of her face with a motion like throwing an axe. “I turned them down. I don’t want to make a vow with just anyone. Even if it’s only a fairy story, I want to be cautious.” 

“That’s a good idea.” Ingrid stared off into the distance, elbows on the railing in a position that would get her scolded if her mother was there. 

After a pregnant pause, Hilda came to join her, planting her chin in her hand. Ingrid could feel her gaze on the back of her neck, burning. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, Ingrid?”

“Nothing. Just… “ she elaborated, when it became clear that Hilda would not take that for an answer, “about getting married.” 

Hilda clicked her tongue. “Everybody at this school is obsessed with getting married, it seems like. Are you going to marry that guy?” 

“I’m not going to marry anyone until I finish school.” Ingrid says as much to remind herself as to explain to Hilda. “Then, I will consider all my options and choose what is best for my family.” That is what a good daughter will do - and Ingrid wants to be a good daughter. She does. 

Hilda keeps staring at her, and Ingrid feels like an ant under a magnifying glass. “In your ideal world,” Hilda says so slowly and quietly that Ingrid almost doesn’t catch it, “what would you do once you finish school?” 

“Oh, that’s easy.” Ingrid looks up at the sky, that boundless frontier where, atop Catria, she can do anything. “I would become a knight in the service of His Highness, and serve as long as I live… and never take a husband.” The last part, she has never said aloud to any other living being other than her sweet pegasus, who knows nothing about those troublesome human concepts; loyalty, duty of a woman to her family, sacrifice. But it is coming close to the witching hour, and they are alone on this tower, and Ingrid’s secret feels like it will burst out of her chest if she doesn’t wrestle it to the ground and tame it. 

That she does not want to take a husband. That her father has been accommodating of her desires, thinking that she is still mourning Glenn, and she is, but there is another reason buried deep in her heart for why she continues to duck and dodge proposal upon proposal. A reason she is too scared to unearth completely. 

Hilda laughs softly, and Ingrid releases a breath she has been holding in secret for a long time. “Yeah, that makes sense. You don’t seem like the type of girl to make a big fuss over boys.” Hilda leans in conspiratorially. “Mercedes is gorgeous, isn’t she?” 

Ingrid leaps back like she’s been stung - Mercedes, so gentle and sweet, with long hair like wheat fields and a voice like milk and honey, who treats her to tea and arrived at the ball in a gown of sumptuous peach silk that accentuated all her very fine features. Ingrid remembers that Hilda is Claude’s best friend, and it occurs to her what kind of person Hilda must be. “How do you - “

“I listen. And I look.” Hilda shrugged. So she had seen the way Ingrid couldn’t help but look at her, the same as all the boys who proposed to her, too, a beautiful girl bearing a valuable Crest. Hilda knew that Ingrid was just the same, and the wind began to kick up and sting Ingrid’s eyes. 

Hilda’s eyes widened in alarm. “Hey, I won’t tell a soul. Alright? Listen, I might gossip from time to time, but I know what’s important to keep secret.” Hilda was always so flippant, but now her tone was deadly serious. Ingrid calmed down, chest heaving like a wild horse. Hilda came to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, looking up at her. She had a good four inches on Hilda, which made her feel all kinds of ways in the pit of her stomach. 

“But yeah, Mercedes, she’s really pretty. And, Ingrid… don’t freak out, okay?”

“I promise.”

Hilda stood on tiptoe, whispered in Ingrid’s ear, “I see the way you look at me, too.” 

Ingrid made a choked little noise, but kept her promise and did not freak out. “You know, we’re alone up here.” Hilda’s voice was a sensuous whisper. “Completely alone. So, if something were to go on between us, nobody would know. In order for anything to have gone down, both of us would have to say it did.”

“Neither of us are that stupid.” Ingrid murmurs, and Hilda giggles. 

“Exactly. You learn fast. It’s a double lock.” Hilda’s voice goes back to normal, and she backs up and looks Ingrid in the eye, gives her a chance to breathe. “If I’m misreading the situation, just say the word.” 

Ingrid hesitates briefly, shakes her head. “It’s just - “ Hilda, leaning forward again, pauses. “I - I’ve never kissed a woman before.” 

Hilda smiles indulgently. “I think you’ll like it.” 

Hilda’s lips are unbelievably soft against hers, and part of Ingrid feels self-conscious about how chapped hers are in comparison. That’s only a small part of her, however; the rest of her simply enjoys the feeling. It feels like flying, like they’re far above the rest of the world and its meaningless machinations. Hilda threads her fingers through Ingrid’s hair, pulls her in to kiss her deeper, and it never occurs to Ingrid to do anything but follow her lead. 

It is the eternal struggle of lovers that their bodies need a steady stream of air in order to stay alive. Once they get a little older and wiser, they realize that if they didn’t need to breathe at all, they would never get anything done. Right now, though, with the moon hanging heavy over them, sparkling like an opal, the need for breath was nothing but a nuisance to Hilda and Ingrid. 

They broke apart, breathing heavily. Ingrid, love-drunk and not thinking all too clearly, strokes Hilda’s cheek with the tips of her fingers. Hilda blushes, looks away, and the sight is so cute that Ingrid is able to well up her courage and kiss her this time, wrapping her arms about her. Hilda was one of those people that always ran warm, and Ingrid craves it as only a girl who’s had cold hands all her life can crave it. 

Time passes. Tears began to roll down Ingrid’s face, and Hilda’s gentle voice as she asked what was wrong only made her cry harder. 

“I can’t be with you, Hilda.” Ingrid sniffed. “I have to… “

“What, marry some guy?” Hilda scoffed. “You can marry me. Your family will be just fine, and we can adopt an heir. Or find a surrogate, if you’re worried about the Crest.” Hilda kissed her knuckles, like a knight swearing an oath to her lady, and Ingrid smiled and wiped her eyes. 

“You make it sound so easy… “

“Do I make it sound easy, or do you make it sound hard?” Hilda thumbs a tear from Ingrid’s cheek. “How about this? In five years, there’s going to be a millennium festival here at Garreg Mach. Everyone who’s anyone will be there. Come meet me there, and we’ll decide then what we want to do.” 

“Where? The monastery is big.” Ingrid gestures around. 

“Hm… How about up here? It’s a good spot for things like that.” 

“Sounds good.”

Ingrid thought she would need the entire five years to really consider, but in practice she knew what decision she would make when Edelgard attacked the monastery and her first thought was if Hilda was alright. Hilda had stolen her heart, up there on the Goddess Tower, and didn’t seem to have any intentions of giving it back.

/ five years later /

Hilda’s arms ached terribly. She had been swinging Freikugel at anything in an Imperial uniform for ages, and her breath came in shallow pants. She was covered in blood, most of it the enemy’s but a worrying amount of it hers. One wound in particular, a gash along her side that was edged with an ugly green, had shown no signs of clotting, and twinged whenever she twisted to the right. The hapless priest assigned to cover her was trying his best to keep her from keeling over, but it was a close race.

Hilda barely paid attention to the shouts from the front that reinforcements had arrived, only plunging her axe into another hapless fool’s head. She had to hold this bridge. For Claude’s sake. It didn’t matter if her legs shook, if she had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming in pain as wounds just healed with magic were opened anew, she had to hold out for just a little longer - 

A Falcon Knight crashed into the enemies gathering at the bridge, heedless of the archers that were aiming their bows. A twirl of her lance dispatched them neatly, and what a lance it was - a glowing golden torch that could only be a Hero’s Relic. Hilda’s jaw dropped.

“Ingrid?!”

Ingrid whipped around to face her, expression as stern as ever, sweat dripping down her face and neck, and Hilda’s heart melted into a puddle at her feet. “We can catch up later! There’s a battle to fight!” 

Hilda nodded and readied her axe.

/

Derdriu is successfully held against the invading force with minimal losses, and the Blue Lions and Golden Deer rejoice. Afterwards, when the smoke of battle has dispersed and the blood mostly washed away, it was decided that the Blue Lions, en route to the Empire to finally finish the war, will stay in Derdriu for the night to heal their wounds and celebrate their victory. Token resistance is put up to the celebrating, mostly from Ingrid and Felix - healing up is one thing, but they shouldn’t celebrate just yet. They were their army’s Stick-In-The-Mud Regiment, a two-pronged assault of grumpiness and stubbornness.

Then a messenger arrived, to Lady Galatea from Lady Goneril, who’d spent the battle holding the point like an absolute champion, twirling the ancient axe passed down in her family for generations around like a toy, asking if she might like to have dinner and drinks while she was in town. It would be Lady Goneril’s treat. Suddenly, all resistance from Ingrid evaporated as she sent the messenger back informing the Lady Goneril that yes, she would love to; without Ingrid backing him up Felix’s offense dissolved, and he accepted a cup of wine. 

In preparation, she called on what little Dorothea had been able to teach her about makeup, dabbing pigment on her lips and lining her eyes. She polished her armor to a shine - she regretted not packing any nice clothes, or at least a dress, but there was nothing for it now. She would have to hope that Hilda wouldn’t mind her wearing armor to their outing, the first time they had properly talked in five years. She sighed deeply, trying to tamp down the swell of panic rising in her belly. 

Ingrid startles like a deer at the hounds’ bark when there’s a genteel little rustle of her tent’s flap - the gesture used in place of a knock, in hastily set-up camps like the Blue Lions’. It serves as a reminder that underneath all of her fripperies, Hilda is a woman of war as well. 

Ingrid ducks out and Hilda greets her with a brilliant smile. “Ingrid! Oh my goodness, look at you! You’ve cut your hair!” Hilda’s hands come up to tease at the ends of her hair, coming barely past her ears. “These hair clips are _cute_ , though. I have half a mind to make some similar ones for me so we can match.”

“Hello to you too, Hilda.” Ingrid laughs. She opens her arms hesitantly, and Hilda all but throws herself into them for a hug. “You look beautiful.” Ingrid whispers, beginning to choke up. They have found their way back to each other, against all odds. 

Hilda giggles. “Aw, thank you!” Hilda too looks the same as she did in battle, though significantly cleaner, and she’s also applied makeup, though a little neater than Ingrid’s job on her own. “Should we go? I have the best place in mind for dinner. Have you ever been to Derdriu?”

Ingrid shakes her head, and Hilda fills her in on all the city’s finer points as they head out of camp - the lovely marble and gold architecture, the sea for miles around changing color with the weather and the season, the gorgeous temperate weather all year round - and inform the guard at the entrance where they’re headed in case the worst should happen. It seems unthinkable that anything should, with everyone so happy and the sounds of celebration audible even from where they are, but worse things have happened on less happy days. 

Hilda takes her hand, and Ingrid nearly misses the name of the restaurant they’re headed to, so enamored she is with the ways Hilda’s hand has changed since she last held it. More calluses, less nail polish, a firmer grip. She rubs her thumb over Hilda’s palm and feels like she’s won something when Hilda’s endless stream of chatter briefly slows. 

Hilda has chosen The World Oyster as their date spot (was this a date?). It was one of the only properly posh restaurants in Derdriu that had managed to stay open through a long and bloody war, and there was almost no one sitting at the white-clothed tables. It felt like a relic from a time long past, even though it was only built, oh, ten or so years ago according to Hilda. Her ever-present dazzling smile briefly fades as she relates this, but then it’s back in full force as she requests a table for two, Goneril party. Hilda has a way with waiters - has a way with people - and as she bats her eyelashes and giggles cloyingly they’re given a table looking out over the water and a basket of fresh bread. Her clout as one of the Alliance’s premiere generals likely helps, as well.

It almost feels obscene, to eat so well when most of the continent is on ration cards. They order vegetable pasta salad and two-fish saute like everything is normal, and they haven’t just returned from a battle where Hilda had nearly met her death at least three times. About halfway through their meal, Ingrid gently rests her hand on top of Hilda’s. Hilda looks up at her quizzically. 

“What’s up?”

“You held that bridge all by yourself, against half a dozen Imperial soldiers. Are you alright?” Hilda’s wounds have long since been fixed by a healer, but Ingrid still asks. There’s another question hiding behind the first one; _is there anything I can do to help you?_

Hilda laughs shortly. “A far cry from when we were at school, huh?” 

Ingrid smiles to remember eighteen-year-old Hilda, making up injuries and illnesses to get out of chores and drills. Now twenty-three year old Hilda is suffering wounds thrice as bad as anything she could fake, and muscling past them for the sake of her “dear old Claude.” It makes her proud. It breaks her heart. It makes her a little bit jealous, which she stamps out like a spider that got under her tent flap. 

“It is. We’ve all changed a lot since our school days.” Ingrid pushes around her pasta and thinks about how seventeen-year-old Ingrid didn’t even know the word for how Hilda made her feel, let alone understand it. 

“Yeah.” Hilda wets her lips. “I like to think it’s mostly for the better.” She squeezes Ingrid’s hand. Ingrid squeezes back. 

“I had my school reunion with the rest of the Golden Deer months ago,” Hilda says quietly, thoughtfully, “but I really worried I’d never be able to reunite with you like I promised. I’m sorry, Ingrid.” 

Ingrid couldn’t help but laugh. “The entire continent has been at war for five years, Hilda, going on six. There wasn’t going to be any millennium festival to meet at.” 

“Still.” Hilda played with Ingrid’s fingers, expression pensive. “I feel bad. Though better late than never, I guess.” 

“Of course.” Ingrid brought Hilda’s hand up to her mouth and kissed it. Hilda went a brilliant red, and Ingrid thrilled with pride at being able to fluster her so, even after five years with no contact.

“So, um… “ Hilda giggled nervously and coughed. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but… have you thought at all about the offer I made?” 

Ingrid swallowed hard. “I have. I don’t want to marry you, not yet - but I do want to court you properly, once this war has ended. I’ve thought about you so much, ever since the monastery fell back then, and when I saw you again for the first time in years on that bridge, it became obvious what I wanted. What I feel.” Ingrid took a sip of water, feigning nonchalance as Hilda’s eyes went soft with emotion. 

“I like that idea - but we both have to survive this war first, in order to make it work.” 

“So we’ll both survive.” Ingrid said. “I have no doubts about your capabilities, Hilda. It’s me I’m worried about.”

Hilda laughed like honey dripping. “If you could have seen yourself through my eyes back at the bridge, you wouldn’t be worried about a thing.”

Hilda leans over the small table and presses her mouth to Ingrid’s, chases all her lingering doubts away in a matter of seconds. It’s just like the first time, that feeling of flying, and Ingrid closes her eyes and let herself drift away on the back of it. 

Hilda cups Ingrid’s face with one hand. “We’ll get through this, baby. I know it. Then you can wine and dine me like it’s going out of style.” 

Ingrid chuckled, taking Hilda’s wrist. “I don’t know how I’ve managed to go so long without you.” 

They kiss again, just because they can, because tenderness and softness feel so much better when they’re in such short supply. Hilda laced her fingers together behind Ingrid’s head and pulled her in deeper, so she could feel the heat of her cheeks. Hilda hummed softly in the back of her throat, and Ingrid hurriedly broke away. She felt like her whole body was on fire. 

They were both breathing heavily, trying not to look at each other. Hilda cleared her throat. “Um, I know you just got done talking about how you wanted to court me properly, so it might be a little early to be making this offer… “ 

Something traitorous in Ingrid’s belly perked up its ears. “Go on.”

Hilda smirked. “I’ve got a hotel room a little ways up the block.” Her cheeky expression evaporated as she looked at Ingrid’s face, equal parts mortified and intrigued. “But if you don’t want to, if you aren’t ready or just don’t feel like it, then we can pretend I never said that, and I can walk you home.” 

“It’s… I’m not, not ready for it. Does that make sense?” Ingrid looks up at Hilda, trying to communicate with a fumbled sentence and a pleading look that she wants to, very much, but she didn’t learn what a lesbian was until the day after the ball when she looked it up in a dictionary deep in the annals of the library, then promptly threw herself into her schoolwork and training to forget about it, to stamp it out and be a good daughter; but she doesn’t care about that now, because she’s at war, damn it all, and a night spent unwinding with a girl who’s only gotten more beautiful since school ended sounds lovely. 

A smile spreads across Hilda’s face slowly, sweetly, and Ingrid thinks she understands. “You wanna head there, then?”

Ingrid nods gratefully, and so begins a drawn-out struggle for the right to pay the check; Hilda said it was her treat, so she’ll treat her, and Ingrid feels bad not paying at least half. Ingrid didn’t stand a chance the minute Hilda began to look up through her eyelashes at her, and Hilda ends up paying the check in full. 

They walk down the street holding hands, enter The Aquamarine Hotel with Ingrid on Hilda’s arm. They check in with no luggage, and it’s blindingly obvious to everyone what they’re there to do. Ingrid’s face burns red with embarrassment, with Hilda guiding her hand to rest on the curve of her ass. The desk clerk hands them a key, Hilda chirps a thank-you, and off they go down the hallway. Ingrid can’t help but feel like they’re doing something wrong, even though there’s nothing illegal or even immoral about checking into a hotel room with no luggage and another person. 

The room was beautiful, with lovely teal walls and golden lamps, but Ingrid barely got the chance to admire it before her vision was full of Hilda; Hilda’s strong arms pinning her to the wall, Hilda’s sunset-pink eyes half-closed, Hilda’s endowed chest spilling out of her shirt and pressed against hers. Hilda kissed her and it felt like drowning; Ingrid closed her eyes and sank beneath the surface. 

Ingrid lets her hands explore the realms of Hilda’s shoulders, her arms, her back. She can’t help but return to Hilda’s ass, give it a tentative, gentle squeeze, and the moan Hilda responds with sends a shock up Ingrid’s spine. Hilda’s hands reach around to her back, undo the clasps of her breastplate and her corset. Ingrid yanks off her gauntlets, tosses them to the floor. 

“Eager, huh?” Hilda’s voice is low and rough, whisper-like, and Ingrid nods. She is, much more than is proper for a lady of her stature; she can feel it throbbing between her legs. Hilda chuckles, an intoxicating little sound, and hefts Ingrid up like a bride, carrying her to bed and laying her down. Ingrid shoves her boots off, and Hilda leans in for one more kiss before she begins to undress herself. 

Ingrid’s fingers shake untying the front of her corset as she watches Hilda leisurely slip out of her petticoats, revealing the prettiest underclothes she’s ever seen. Rich purple-red garters hold up matching silk stockings, and a satin bustier crowns her cleavage with lace. One of the straps is slipping off of Hilda’s shoulder, and Ingrid reaches out and adjusts it in a trance. “You wore all that into battle?” Her voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. 

Hilda smiles sweetly. “I wear “all this” every day. I’m always prepared. Do you like it?” The garters dig deliciously into Hilda’s soft, strong thighs; her panties are so small they might as well not even be there, the outline of her sex easily distinguishable. Ingrid nodded, utterly speechless. She couldn’t help but feel a little shy once she finished disrobing to reveal her drab white underwear. 

“Nothing special compared to yours… compared to you, I know - “ Ingrid started, before pausing irritably when Hilda started giggling. “What?!” 

“Aw, darling, you’re plenty special!” 

Ingrid’s world becomes soft around the edges as Hilda kisses her deeper than she’s ever been kissed before; the air turns pink and warm with blushing cheeks, bitten lips, the most sensitive places between both their thighs. Ingrid finds the center of the world between Hilda’s legs and charts it with her fingertips, her tongue. Hilda makes her feel things she’s never felt before, fire licking up her spine and setting her brain alight in the best possible way. If Ingrid manages to make her feel even half as good, she will consider it a success. Going by the moans that leave her, loud even muffled with a pillow, she won’t have to worry about a thing.

It’s so early in the morning that it wouldn’t be out of place to call it very late at night when Ingrid stirs from her post-coital doze and begins to get up and dress. Hilda yawns luxuriously to hide her disappointment. “Are you sure you have to go?”

“Hilda, I have to go back. The others will wonder where I am.” Ingrid smiles sadly, and Hilda gets up to hug her tightly. 

Hilda whispers into Ingrid’s ear, “Let me walk you home,” and Ingrid nods so imperceptibly that Hilda wouldn’t have noticed it if they weren’t so close together. 

The night is inky black without fire spells shooting through the air, streetlamps making soft pools of golden light to keep them from losing their way. Hilda can’t seem to let go of her hand, and Ingrid wouldn’t want her to, in any case. The party appears to still be going strong when they return to the Blue Lions’ camp outside the city, a drunken lute plucking out a wobbly tune mostly drowned out by people shout-singing or just shouting. Ingrid feels a lump rise in her throat. 

She turns to Hilda and thanks her lucky stars for the darkness to hide her tears in case she really starts to cry. “Thank you, Hilda. Until we - “ 

Hilda kisses her one last time, an embrace like a solar eclipse, blocking out all else. Now she’ll definitely know I’m crying, Ingrid thought from far away as she wrapped her arms around Hilda and kissed her back. 

Ingrid thinks she hears a sniffle when Hilda pulls away. “Until we meet again, until the war ends… farewell, Ingrid.” A kiss on the forehead she seems unable to resist giving her, then Hilda walks away. Ingrid watches her go until she has to squint to see her fuzzy outline, attempts to burn the sight of her into her mind. 

“Hey, Ingrid!” It’s Sylvain, staggering out to meet her, less drunk than she would have thought. “We were wondering where you were - you okay?” 

Ingrid schools her features into her sternest face. “I’m fine. How much have you been drinking?” 

“Oh, come on, Ingrid, it’s a celebration!”

She sighs, unable to keep herself from smiling, and follows Sylvain inside. “I suppose that’s true.” 

A thumb presses down against the base of her throat, and she yelps. “Looks like you’ve been doing your share of celebrating.” Sylvain waggles his eyebrows, and Ingrid shoves him away before adjusting her collar. 

“None of your business.” 

“You’re right, it’s not. But… “ Sylvain holds his hands up defensively as Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Let me finish! … Do you think I’ll get to meet them, once the war is over?” 

Ingrid smiles to imagine Hilda meeting Sylvain. With the holding of Derdriu and the Alliance with Leicester, the end of the war feels closer than ever. “I think you definitely will, if you behave yourself.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is the longest fic I have written for any fandom, ever, so go me I guess. go hilgrid. 
> 
> also this is the second fic in a row where Sylvain's ruined a moment lmao. i don't like sylvain very much
> 
> please comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
